Skid-Marks
by UltraRecycloVegetarian
Summary: "It looked like something straight out of your favorite horror movie, the one about the guy in a hockey mask. Oh my God, Johnny. Wait, let me rephrase. You looked like one of his victims." / letters from a melodramatic biker chick to her deceased lover.


**_Warning: _**_This story does **not** have a happy ending._

* * *

_January 13th, 1956_

Dear Johnny,

I'm not sure why I'm writin' this letter. I know you'll never receive it. In fact, you'll never do anything again. You'll never watch the sunset, feel the cool autumn breeze, or watch the flowers blossom in spring.

You're dead.

My darling Johnny 13 is fuckin' dead.

It's only been a couple hours since I found out, but I can't stop crying. I didn't even know it was possible to cry this much until today. I can barely see through my tears. There are ink splotches all over the page. But writing this is the best I can do. For you. For us.

Nothin' was supposed to happen today. I mean, this morning I woke up thinking nothing special would occur, that today would be blurred into the other not-so-great days. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

School was over in the blink of an eye. The only part that sticks in my brain is when you came over to my locker after third period, with some lame excuse on how you didn't get the History homework, and I was too focused on my makeup to remind you that I was in honors, and you, well, weren't. I'm ripping my hair out over that. It was the last time I'll ever hear you voice, and I couldn't even pay attention to what you were sayin'. I bet it was a cheesy line. I think it's the one where you ask for the map to my heart or something. Yeah, that's definitely it. You're such a hopeless romantic it makes me gag. But that's one of the reasons I fell in love with you, isn't it?

Anyway, I walked home alone 'cause you skipped last period and I couldn't find you anywhere. Normally this would upset me, but then I remembered you'd specifically told me in the morning that you'd be goin' somewhere with Link. I didn't bother to ask where, but now I wish I had. I could've stopped you.

Amber had band practice, so I figured some alone time wouldn't hurt. Well, I wasn't exactly alone. Your dog, Shadow, followed me home. Since you weren't around, I guess. I hope you don't mind I took him in. Actually, I'm doing you a favor, since I hate that godammed dog.

Yeah, so, nothing out of the ordinary so far. I'm just about to turn in to my street when I hear someone screechin' my name. There's a guy, one of your friends, I think, standing a couple feet behind me, panting. He tells me that I have to get to the Nasty Burger. Normally I'd just wave him off, since he could've been some creep trying to score. The thing that got my attention was your name. Something was wrong.

When I finally got there, I was a mess. Though it was better than I look now. The Nasty Burger is a good mile away from my house, but I've always been a good runner. Even so, I'd kicked my heels off halfway and I'm sure my face was red.

There was a huge crowd gathered in the street. (At the time, I didn't realize they were all crowding around _you_.) Everyone started starin' when I got there. I was beginnning to get nervous. After all, I wasn't _that_ popular. The first person to give me any sort of distinct reaction was Amber. She pulled me into a tight hug.

By now, I was _really_ scared. "What?" I pulled back and stared at her. "What happened?"

"Go look for yourself." Her voice was devoid of its usual snarky tone. I had to push through to crowd, but I saw it. I bet you can guess what, no, _who_ it was.

Oh God. OhGodohGodoh_myfuckingGod_itwasyou. It looked like something straight out of your favorite horror movie, the one about the guy in a hockey mask. Oh my God, Johnny. Wait, let me rephrase. You looked like one of his _victims. _ You should've seen the carnage you left on the road. And in my heart.

There it was, your pale, lifeless body. And that absolutely fucking horrid motorcycle. I always told you, didn't I? I knew that stupid hunk of metal would break down in the most unexpected place and you would crash and die. I _always_ did.

I noticed something glintin' in the sunlight. It was your ring. Just like mine. I kneeled down to pick it up, and I couldn't seem to stand up again. My mind focused on the tiny trickle of blood still coming out of your neck. I started screaming. I told someone to do something, they couldn't just let you lay there. Then everything was just a blur of police sirens and paramedics and a swish of Chloe's blond hair, pressin' against my cheek as she hugged me tight, whispering things in my ear like how everything will be okay. Bullshit. I still heard people's voices.

"That girl's absolutely insane!"

"Look at that poor mess. Where is her mother?"

"Don't you know? _She's_ the one whose father left her family. Heaven knows who the mother ran off with."

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

I'm still clenching my fists over the last one.

I wish you were still here, Johnny. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and you'll call my house at 8 am, like you do every mornin' just to annoy me, and I'll tell you who you need to punch in the face for saying anything about _your girl_.

I feel so horrible. I shoud've been there. I should've done something! I could've saved your damn life. If only. I'm too ignorant. And jealous. And clingy. And rude. How did you put up with a human being like me for so long? I'm despicable.

Chloe keeps saying that I've had a traumatic afternoon and that I should sleep. The page is really blotted with ink now. I can't even read the first sentence. I hope you're in a better place now.

(Even though I think the best place you can be with is me.)

Kisses,

Kitty

* * *

_January 14th, 1956_

Dear Johnny,

It's been exactly twenty-four hours since you died.

Chloe and I sat down and she told me everything. Or, everything she knew. God, Johnny, you're such a fucking idiot for not looking where you were goin'. I think you did it just for kicks.

You over-confident bastard.

In other news, Amber came over. She brought her guitar, and some chocolates.

Oh God, I hope I don't turn into one of those girls that eat when they get depressed. I already eat so much. Even though you said it was never enough. Funny, how those little things I never noticed before are the ones I miss the most now.

It wasn't bad, though. They were the nice ones that only Amber's family can afford. The ones filled with coconuts and orange cream and all that jazz. They reminded me of the ones you used to snatch off of the soda shop's counter and give me, like you hadn't just stolen them. Your argument was that they were just candy. Cost a dime a dozen, probably. And I always countered with if they were _so_ cheap then why you couldn't just buy them.

But I always ate them anyway.

So I spent my afternoon singin' my heart out to "Heartbreak Hotel" while Amber strummed along, stepping in when I started choking on my sobs.

_You make me so lonely, I could die._

But I don't even think Elvis Presley understands me right now.

Kisses,

Kitty

* * *

_January 17th, 1956_

Dear Johnny,

It turns out there _are_ so many people that care about you. So many that they managed to plan a funeral in four days. I wish I could say I helped, but the truth is the only person I talk to is you anymore. And Chloe, only because she's my sister and we have to talk.

It was already plenty crowded when I got there. It's funny, really. I didn't know you had so many friends.

But I guess I really didn't know too much about you anyway, darlin'.

You also never told me how many _ex_-friends you had. Ones that were girls. And ones that were (and are) very, very in love with you. I was probably just another one in the crowd.

The only person I managed to find was Amber, and we didn't really talk. I just kinda sat there, havin' wasted all my tears already. To Amber's credit, she made a few attempts at conversation, but I didn't really feel like answering. My eyes were stuck to your coffin.

It was closed, of course. Nobody wants to see the dead.

You don't forget everything about life when you die, right? Well, just in case, I'll get ya up to speed. You remember Jillian Manson. That awful bitch. She's always been out to get me, just 'cause I've been a bit higher on the social ladder than her.

I'm quite a sight for sore eyes. Well, Jillian's sore eyes. I didn't bother brushing my hair, and it's in one of those messy updos you liked. Said it was the only time I looked like a real girl instead of some plastic doll. So my hair is stickin' out because it _still_ hasn't grown out from that haircut you gave me. (I don't have to recount _everything_, do I?)

And I'm wearing black, but it isn't a dress. In fact, I'm not sure it counts as proper funeral attire. It's one of your old shirts, and I was only wearing it because it smelled like you. Cigarette smoke and rotten luck. I managed to pull on skinny jeans, though. And my jacket, but that's a given.

My eyes are bloodshot and my skin is deathly pale. Amber said I looked like I'd risen from the dead.

Anyway, back to Jillian. _She_ finds us, hysterically sobbing like she lost her mother or somethin'. It made me wanna puke. You dated her in sophmore year, I remember. When you first came to Casper and fit in with _them_ like the scarf around my neck. All those preps and jocks. To some extent, I was one of 'em too.

But I've always been a little different.

Too Betty for geeks, too geeky for Betties. Too normal for punks, too weird for cheerleaders. Then you made me feel like I finally _belonged_.

I think that's why I acted like I hated you so much. You know I didn't, right? I was just so afraid to lose you. But I have. And now I don't know what to do with myself anymore.

Jesus Christ! I keep getting off topic. So Jillian is just sitting there crying, and anyone in their right mind would tell her to fuck off. Amber comes pretty close.

"Uh, Jillian? Don't you have some boy's arms to cry into?" You gotta give her points for that one.

But Jillian doesn't rise to the bait. "I-I actually wanted to t-talk to Katherine."

"Hm?" I finally bring myself to meet her gaze, and it is _not_ pretty. Honey, mascara is supposed to go on your lashes, not your entire face.

"S-somebody told me that y-you were his girl."

"I _am_."

She wipes her face, (which only makes it worse) and stares at me intently. She straightens up, and I'd be lyin' if I said she wasn't about to accuse me of something. "_Some_ girlfriend you were, letting him die."

Your blood is boiling just as much as mine, right? How dare she! "_Some_ girlfriend you were, leaving him for Brett and still managing to act like you really _care_ about Johnny." I chuckled bitterly.

Jillian got up from her seat, cheeks turnin' red. The rage on her face obviously showed the crying schoolgirl act was fake. Shocker. "Bitch!" She cried.

I dug my bitten-raw nails into the plastic chair. _I'm better than her, I'm not stooping to her level, I'm better than that who-_

"Okay, okay, that's enough." Amber sounded more composed, pushing Jillian back into her seat.

"What_ever_." I snapped. I got up and made my way to your coffin. Well, more importantly, _away_ from Jillian.

You would'a liked it, Johnny. It was black, with gray lining. And there was a green '13' on it. Big enough to be seen, but small enough to go unnoticed by cats who'd be likely to hate it. It was pretty killer, I guess.

And suddenly, I had an idea. I fished through my jacket pocket, and pulled it out. The gem was still gleaming. I looked around to make sure nobody was payin' attention, and I was clear. The "proper" funeral was about to start soon. I pushed open your coffin just a sliver, _am I even allowed to?_ and slipped the ring onto your finger. Just to make sure you won't ever forget me. Because I know I'll never be able to forget you.

I spring away from your coffin and walk back to my seat, which, thankfully, Jillian is nowhere near.

I could bore you with all the service jazz, but I'll do ya a favor and skip to the better parts. Namely, where everyone talks about how you were "a positive influence on the world" and "made everyone's day brighter". If God had any mercy, He'd gag me right then and there. But I guess He has a sense of humor. No offense, Johnny, but I'm being honest. You really weren't like that.

So when they called me up, I wanted to set the record straight. You shouldn't be remembered under false pretenses, no matter how sweet they sound. I wish I could write to you that I did. I really do. But, honestly, I was just as horrid as the rest of 'em. My throat closed up as I looked at all those people, staring at me. I had to clear it a couple times to even start speaking. And it was utter bull. Really. I said a couple lines about how much I loved you and why you were important and then I started crying. _Fucking crying._ I bet I sounded really stupid, like all those other girls.

But I'm _not_ like them, am I? I'm not horribly lovesick or fake or bitchy. Okay, maybe just a little. But still.

You officially left today, Johnny. And I think you took a piece of me with you.

Kisses,

Kitty

* * *

_January 21st, 1956_

Dear Johnny,

Why did you have to die?

Kisses,

Kitty

* * *

_February 3rd, 1956_

Dear Johnny,

Valentine's Day is coming up. I think I'd rather crawl into a hole and rot than go to school. Maybe I will.

I really really really wish you were here. Life, actually, is being a huge asshole to me. I just don't want to do anything anymore. Is that normal?

Speaking of rhetorical questions, Chloe says I should get a therapist. _Please_. That'll be the final nail in my coffin. Of depression, I mean. Figuratively speaking.

I don't need _anyone_ to ask me how I'm coping, becuase I already know the answer.

Fucking awfully.

I've stopped crying, but I feel like a robot. All the things you aren't here to do anymore in my life stick out like neon pink sweater at a funeral.

(Your death has even taken a toll on my sense of humor, with all these damn references. And I swear to God they aren't on purpose.)

And even worse, people at school suck. Really. They've started teasing me. Yeah, maybe I should be gettin' over you by now, but _come on!_ Just yesterday Amber decked Brett Hathaway. Y'know why? 'Cause he informed me that if you look closely, there are still spots of blood on the road near the Nasty Burger.

That's probably the nicest thing I've heard at school.

I'm _not_ going insane in the name of love, Johnny. I'm absolutely _nothing_ like my mother. Don't you dare think that, even for a second. I just, I miss you. I'm grieving. Ain't that how I'm supposed to act? Honestly, these people make it look like a sin.

I'm just thanking God that Amber's on my side. I'm not really sure why she's still stickin' with me. I'm not makin' it easy for her. But I like it when she plays guitar. Smooth and calm. It's amazing, how many different types of songs she can play. Music can really change your whole mood. I'm tellin' ya, Johnny, this girl's gonna be famous. I can just feel it.

Other than my life slowly detoriating, I guess there isn't really much to talk about. I wish you would write me letters back. How's it like on the flip side? Better than here, I hope.

I also hope that you haven't found another girl, or I'll wring both of your necks when I get up there.

Kisses,

Kitty

* * *

_February 14th, 1956_

Dear Johnny,

Today has been the worst day of my life. I'm crying, Johnny. Sobbing. I've been seeming to do that a lot more ever since The Day You Died.

Ever the she-devil, Chloe made me go to school even though I tried every trick in the book to get her to let me stay home. She claims to understand, but I don't really think she does. Then again, does anyone?

Walking into those halls was absolute torture. Aside from all the gag-worthy decorations at every fucking corner, someone was enough of an asshole to leave a note in my locker.

_Surprising that a whore like you _isn't_ dating someone today._

I was so close to crying right then and there. But instead I ripped the notebook paper to shreds, grabbing my books for English.

And of course, I sit next to Gabrielle Ellis, who's practically the second soul of Jillian. When I sit down, her voice automatically raises. I feel bad for whoever she was tallking to.

"I'm _so_ happy that I'm not spending Valentine's Day alone. I mean, what do those people even do? Cry over their _bad luck_? Adopt a couple _cats_?" Her light tone turned into a sneer, and I heard all of their high-pitched giggles. But I ignored them, and started scribbling in my notebook. The tears started runnin' down my face.

Unfortunately, the rest of the day only got worse.

I had to go to the nurse during lunch with a "stomachache".

Chloe was mad at me for coming home, but she didn't freak out that bad. She just said I should try to get through school. But she doesn't get it! I thought people would show a little compassion since you've just _fucking died_, but it goes to show how shitty Casper is.

I wanna get outta here, Johnny. I wish we could just run away together, like you always said. You weren't joking, right?

Kisses,

Kitty

* * *

_February 19th, 1956_

Dear Johnny,

Remember how I told you Chloe wanted me to get a therapist? Well, she found one. Her name is Penelope or something and she cakes so much makeup on her face I swear she's still in highschool. My sister kinda forced me to talk to her, and if it's possible, I actually feel _worse_ now.

But one of her questions is still floating around in my brain. _Have you ever thought about suicide, sweeheart?_

Yeah, I guess I kinda have.

When I told her, she spouted off about how even if my life is totally _miserable and useless and I feel like I'll _never_ get over you, I will._ Real inspirational. I hope I never have to go visit her again.

Kisses,

Kitty

* * *

_March 3rd, 1956_

Dear Johnny,

I went back to the diner today. I haven't been there since The Day. I quit, because crying over you became a full-time job. I hope you feel bad, Johnny. I hope you feel bad for being careless and fucking dying.

Another reason why I can't stand to go there anymore is because it reminds me of you. The smell of grease, the jukebox that we would dance to in the middle of the night when I had my late shift, the milkshakes that you insisted were dropped from the heavens.

God, I really hate that place.

I'm not really sure why I went there. I just sat down at your booth. The one that has the little nick in the table from when you scraped your motorcycle key against it. You goddamned idiot.

Do you remember the day we first met? Well, I do.

I was in an especially bad mood that day because Amber had blown me off for her boyfriend, even though we'd been planning our trip to the movies since, well, _forever_.

So when I came to get your order, I didn't realize that you didn't answer me 'cause you were too busy starin' at me. So I'd snapped at you, and, honestly, I think I scared you. Not that it fazed you. You've always been smoother than I'd liked to admit. You told me you wanted fries that were as hot as I was. I smacked you in the head for that one.

But when I came back with your food, I _tripped_. On nothing! And I kept apologizing like crazy 'cause I knew anyone in their right mind would chew me out. But you didn't really care, said it happened all the time. And while we were wiping up the floor, a number scribbled onto a napkin found its way into my pocket.

I went to the movies with someone that night after all.

Kisses,

Kitty

_March 7th, 1956_

* * *

Dear Johnny,

This is it. I'm done. I'm so fucking done with everything. I can't take it anymore, Johnny. I'm sitting in the bathroom and clutching an old bottle I found somewhere in the medicine cabinet. I take back everything I've said in my previous letters. I _am _ going insane in the name of love.

There's a gaping hole in my heart. In my soul. I literally cannot live without you. You are my guardian angel.

I know a lot of people hated you. Hell, even I hated you when I first met you. But it might make you feel better to know that they all love you now. 'Cause you're _dead_. Maybe they'll do the same for me.

So it's settled. I click open the bottle, make sure the door is locked, and swallow one of the colorful pills.

_Whore._

I down another.

_Bitch._

Another.

_Fake._

Third time's the charm, right?

_Attention-seeker._

A couple more won't hurt.

_Lovesick._

I'm startin' to feel dizzy.

_Psycho._

I have to sit down now, Johnny. My head is spinning. They're working. It's good, I think. I can't really form any thoughts now. Well, except for one.

I love you, Johnny 13. See you soon.

Forever yours,

Katherine Johnson

* * *

_Wow sorry this was real depressing. And I'm also really sorry about my failed attempts at '50s lingo lol. But seriously, Johnny and Kitty don't get enough love. Given, this probably isn't the fluffiest thing ever haha. It was just a little character study on Kitty. She's always cared about Johnny but been kinda mean to him, which makes for an interesting subject. And slightly bipolar. Anyway, feedback? c: P.S. There's a poll up on my page, and I'd LOVE it if you voted!_


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